


Someone will remember us, even in another time

by Meowcenary



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Has a Vulva (Good Omens), Crowley Has A Vulva (Good Omens), Cunnilingus, F/F, Femme Aziraphale, Femme Crowley, Ineffable Wives (Good Omens), Inspired by Poetry, Lesbian Sex, Sappho - Freeform, Vaginal Fingering, its GAY folks, lets make that a tag, poetry fetish, sapphic in every way
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-05
Updated: 2019-10-05
Packaged: 2020-11-24 00:49:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20898911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meowcenary/pseuds/Meowcenary
Summary: Crowley had been lounging and lurking and occasionally sulking from the lack of attention for hours now. She watched with a hopeful stare as Aziraphale locked the front door to the bookshop. The angel had taken a lull in customers as a sign that she should close early and was currently moving to re-shelve a book a customer so rudely mislaid. Crowley waited until Aziraphale had rounded the corner before she slithered up behind her and grabbed her by the waist. Crowley's slim angles pressed against plush curves and, as she drew herself in, Aziraphale let out a surprised gasp.





	Someone will remember us, even in another time

**Author's Note:**

> It's just wholesome fluffy married wives. Aziraphale loves poetry and Crowley loves when she recites poetry. I just really really really love ineffables, lesbians, and poetry ok? I hope you will too!
> 
> Leave me a comment if you like it <3
> 
> _Title is a Sappho fragment; first poem is known as "Come to me from Krete" by Sappho; second poem is an untitled sonnet by Marilyn Hacker. The sweater bit was inspired by [gingerhaole's wives art](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20531924/chapters/49396535#workskin)._

Crowley had been watching Aziraphale all day. She didn’t have anything on since Hell hadn’t sent a note in months so she decided that the day would best be spent sprawled with a feline elegance over the chaise lounge in Aziraphale’s bookshop. And so she watched the Angel. For most of the day Aziraphale browsed her own shelves, stealing a moment to read a favorite poem or a particularly memorable soliloquy. Crowley would lurk about the stacks and peak around the corner to see the angel’s petal-pink lips moving subtly as she read, silent words ghosting over her lips. Crowley wished Aziraphale was reading to her. She loved it when the angel recited poetry to her when they were alone. She wished to feel the soft vibrations of her angel's words coast over her neck, down her chest. The thought of it made her temperature rise and her clothes suddenly feel too tight (which, of course, they were).

Crowley thought of Lesbos and the teamwork the pair hadn’t known they were engaged in. The angel had sat on a rocky shore with young Sappho. A pile of violets rested in Aziraphale’s chaste lap, a gift for her kindness. Sea mist scented the air and feathery curls grazed gently across her freckled shoulder with the soft winds. Her eyes were as blue and comforting as the skies above the island as she placed the first ever lyre into Sappho’s delicate hands and whispered _sing for me_, blessing her with the gift of melody and verse.

Crowley, for her part, was sent to _seduce_ and that she did. She roamed the island in a wine-red dress that moved like flame in the sea breeze. Everywhere she went she incited burning lust in the young women, but never the men. She might as well have been invisible to them. Perhaps she was. At times she heard men, huddled in alcoves or alleyways whispering of the mysterious force that had entranced their sisters and maidens they wished to wed but none of them had ever seemed to pin down an explanation.

Crowley’s tanned, oiled skin glistened in the hot sun like embers flying from a festival fire into the deep night sky and women would crowd around her to hear stories of her adventures abroad. When she laughed with copper locks tossed back and the slim slope of her porcelain neck exposed, the girls all leaned a few inches closer, hoping to catch a waft of her scent: bonfire and sandalwood. Crowley had been the first woman to taste Sappho’s rose-sweet lips and the first anyone to send her careening into the fierce ocean of orgasm under a Grecian sun. So they, as a team, had made the great poet who she was. They were the muses who inspired her and gifted her with the divine purpose of singing for the voiceless and making something _beautiful_ and _lasting_.

Sometimes, when the sun has fallen and the last few patrons are shooed from the bookshop, Aziraphale will saunter up to Crowley, a wild look in her eye like the furious waves that crashed onto the rocky shores of Lesbos. She’ll hoist Crowley over her shoulder with the strength of a high angel and land her on their bed whispering Sappho’s sensuous lines into the crook of the demon’s neck. She’ll ask if Crowley remembers and _of course_ Crowley remembers. They were both there but they would glide past each other in a crowd without a word, ignoring the sun-blazing desire to reach out a hand and ask _will you stay?_ But they were here now and denied themselves no longer. Crowley rarely passed by Aziraphale without at least taking in the powder-violet scent of her and Aziraphale wouldn’t let Crowley walk by without brushing fingertips along the sensitive underbelly of her sinewy wrist. Now, their glances said _stay with me_ and _i’m not going anywhere_. 

Crowley had been lounging and lurking and occasionally sulking from the lack of attention for hours now. She watched with a hopeful stare as Aziraphale locked the front door to the bookshop. The angel had taken a lull in customers as a sign that she should close early and was currently moving to re-shelve a book a customer so rudely mislaid. Crowley waited until Aziraphale had rounded the corner before she slithered up behind her and grabbed her by the waist. Crowley's slim angles pressed against plush curves and, as she drew herself in, Aziraphale let out a surprised gasp.

“Hello Angel,” Crowley purred into her neck.

Aziraphale didn’t turn around but didn't move away either. “Ah, you frightened me dear. I’ll be with you shortly I just need to--”

Crowley moved her hands up the angel’s voluptuous frame, stopping to paw at the sponge-soft flesh pushing over the top of her pencil skirt. “Mph, you feel ssso good angel,” the demon groaned as she pressed her body further into Aziraphale’s back side.

“Now dear, give me a moment. You’ve been very patient today but I do have a bit more work to do.”

“Do it laterrr,” the demon whined petulantly, “book ‘ll be there.”

“Be good for me dear and--”

“I have! I ammmm! But you can’t go around looking like this,” Crowley grabbed a handful of Aziraphale’s arse and leaned a sharp hip into her, “and not expect me to run out of patience.”

The angel giggled under her demon’s groping. She’d protest but she loved it when Crowley was this hungry for her. The angel knew that delaying te demon’s gratification would push her from hungry to famished. No matter who won this argument, Aziraphale knew she would be devoured by the end of the night.

Crowley had settled her chin onto the angel’s shoulder. She moaned, “Pleaseeee,” as she continued to run her thin fingers up Aziraphale’s sides. Crowley smoothed over Azirphale’s blush pink jumper, stopping to let out a small, needy whimper when she got to the angel’s plump bosom.

The garment had been a gift from Crowley in the 1950s. She had spent some time in the states and ran across an American filmmaker who was immediately enraptured by her. Ed Wood credited Crowley for his film Glen or Glenda?, a study in gender experimentation. When filming wrapped he had come to her and said, “My muse, I know you must return to London but before you leave, is there anything I can do to thank you?”

Crowley had flashed a serpent's smile and asked, “Well, if you wouldn’t mind terribly, I’ve had my eye on that angora jumper you wore in the film.”

“Oh! Anything for you, take it. But, well, it’s not quite your style is there someone---”

“An angel,” grinned Crowley.

“She would have to be, to deserve you my dear.”

Aziraphale had coveted the gift for decades, keeping it in new condition all this time. Crowley pushed both her hands into the opening at Aziraphale’s neck impatiently. “Angel your tits feel sssso good.” She groped her angel lasciviously, pulling her pillowy breasts free from the confines of her brassiere and top.

“Crowley no! You’ll stretch out my jumper!”

Crowley’s voice grew husky “Let me sssee them angel, you can’t keep them all to yoursssself.” She cupped her tits in desperate hands and nipped at Aziraphale’s neck. The angel let out a moan, almost ready to give in before she found her strength again.

“Just let me put this one book away,” she told Crowley and pried herself free, stuffing her bust back into the soft fabric. She began to walk off to the back of the shop, dramatizing the natural sway of her hips knowing it would drive Crowley mad. Her watchful demon followed close behind, greedy eyes on the angel’s divine arse. As soon as she stopped, Crowley’s arms were snaked around her again, hungrier than before. She let out a needy groan, “Now, angel?”

Aziraphale replaced the book to its rightful home. “Well, not _here_ my love. We should go to the bed at least, be more comfortable.”

“Ssssstop talking senssse angel, doesn’t matter where we are. I’ll have you forgetting your name soon, you won’t know a bed from a bog.”

“Is that so?” Aziraphale smiled and snapped. In a flash, the couple were in their bedroom. Crowley grinned, “Alright, I get it, only the best for my love. So you want me to pamper you? You want me to worship at your feet?” She began to lower herself to her knees but the angel stopped her.

“Mmm, not quite darling.” She pulled away slightly to take in all of Crowley’s beguiling beauty, “Ah, you do look stunning, is that a new blouse?”

“I’ve had this since 1978 angel.”

_So, yes?_ thought Aziraphale. She curled her fingers around Crowley’s slight waist and twirled her around, pinning her on the bed. “You really were pulling out your old tricks today weren’t you?” she raised an eyebrow playfully, “The way you were draped on that chaise, it was simply obscene my love.”

Crowley grinned, _so she had noticed_, she thought. “Just for you darling.”

“And all of Soho. You might as well be my new window display!”

“Oh you’d like that. You always were fond of showing me off at your posh parties,” quipped Crowley.

“Oh alright,” she tsked. “I’m more interested in taking you all for myself right now.”

Crowley gulped. For all her seductions there was always a moment of nervousness at being finally acknowledged, at being _seen_. She steeled herself and raised a hand to Aziraphale’s chest.

The angel grabbed her by the wrist before she could touch the garment again, “I was serious about the jumper, dear.” Crowley snapped with a grin as their clothes vanished and they found themselves pressed skin-to-skin. Crowley wrapped her arms around to pull Aziraphale's plush hips closer. With the obstacle of her skirt removed, Crowley wedged a knee between Aziraphale’s legs and opened her own to welcome a plump thigh. She let out a groan as the angel leaned into her. “By Jove, you’re _soaked_ dear.”

Crowley stifled a laugh, “What century is this angel?"

“Oh, hush.” Aziraphale shifted forward and Crowley let out a breath.

"Ok, yes,” she breathed, taking Aziraphale’s hint to _shut up_, “well, yes, I’ve been watching _you_ all day.”

Aziraphale pushed her weight between Crowley’s legs, eliciting a sound that rose from deep within the demon. “I’ll make you bite that tongue of yours,” Aziraphale taunted with a fond look in her eye.

“Ngk, angel, please.” Crowley bucked up, gripping Aziraphale’s full thigh with her own.

“What do you want sweetheart? What do you _need_?” She nearly sang the word _need_, which filled Crowley’s heart with a painful rush of fondness and want.

“Do you have to be so perfect? A literal angel,” she rolled her hips up and groaned, “how? How do I deserve you?”

Aziraphale grinned and fireworks seemed to glint behind her eyes, “By being you, my dear.”

Crowley blushed and turned to hide her face in a pillow but Aziraphale caught her cheek. “You are everything I could have asked for and so much more my love. I have wanted you since Eden. The way you stood up to Adam. I saw you. I saw you before you were a snake and I saw the fury in your eyes as you clawed your way up the wall. And I watched you, the first woman, be the first human flung into hellfire and I prayed Crowley,” Aziraphale shuddered, “I prayed I would get another chance to see you, to make sure you were safe. And then there you were, _transformed_. And I fell for you again as you offered knowledge and _freedom_ to the humans. I fell for you every time I received a new book, knowing none of them would have existed without _you_.” She cupped Crowley’s face in her hands as she spoke. “You have always deserved me. I just didn’t know how to have you yet. I didn’t know how to be _yours_.” She leaned down to give Crowley a tender kiss. “But I am yours and I always have been.” Her tone was painfully sincere.

Crowley felt her heart swell and her sex ache. She brought her hips up slowly, grinding on Azirpahale’s plush body. “Fuck angel,” her chest had turned a bright pink from arousal and earnest devotions. She wanted to say _I love you_ and _I’m yours_ but all that came out was, “fuck me? Now, angel.”

Aziraphale giggled, a honey-sweet sound in Crowley’s ear, “Mhm, right away my serpent.” She began to move her hips against Crowley’s, legs straddling each other. She could feel the slick heat of Crowley’s cunt gliding over her, digging into her plush thigh to find the exact angle of friction she was looking for. Crowley reached for Aziraphale’s tits, finally free to take the weight of them in her hands. She let out a soft cry as she took a pale pink nipple into her mouth. She swirled her serpent’s tongue and Aziraphale moaned, hips working into her demon harder. Crowley raised the thigh that was squeezed between Aziraphale’s legs and rocked into her, relishing in the noises brought by her movements. She continued to grope at the angel’s chest, burying her face under her perfect breasts. The pair writhed in unison, each seeking out the other’s pleasure, craving her cries, wrapped in her embrace.

“Ah, my love,” Crowley breathed “you’re so sssoft.” She grabbed onto Aziraphale’s hips, their bodies writhing rhythmically into each other. Crowley felt a burning heat building in her, the flame that had been smoldering all day was now stoked by the myriad sensations of her angel pressed against her. Aziraphale’s skin was electric, every inch of her setting Crowley’s abuzz. Aziraphale hooked a hand behind Crowley’s shoulder for leverage, bucking into her heat, feeling the demon’s wetness coating her thigh. “And you, my dear,” she breathed, “and you are so fucking _hot_. I’m a moth to your flame. I couldn’t resist you if I tried.”

“Ngk, don’t fly too close then,” Crowley started when Aziraphale stopped her by dropping down to take her in a deep kiss. The angel’s tongue darted between Crowley’s apple-tart lips and her lover groaned a low, desperate sound. Aziraphale continued the kiss as she lifted away from Crowley’s groin. The demon gave out a pained moan of protest into Aziraphale’s honeyed mouth, pleading for her to return. As she whined, she felt Aziraphale run two fingers over her soaked, throbbing silk-soft folds. Crowley bit down on Aziraphale’s lip and hummed another plea. Aziraphale whimpered at the sudden flash of pain-pleasure and answered her call by slowly slipping her fingers into the velvet heat of her demon. Her body accepted the angel easily as though it had been waiting for hours. Crowley freed her mouth to let out a cry of relief and gratitude. “Fuck, angel,” she panted, grinding down on Aziraphale’s hand, “sing to me.”

“Of course, my love,” she smiled warm as an island sun. Aziraphale began to hum the lyrics of a friend they had both lost to time, “Come to me, to this holy temple, where / Your lovely apple grove stands,” her lips brushed along Crowley’s extended neck, breath like a spring breeze. “And your altars that flicker / With incense.”

Crowley clawed one hand into the sheets and grasped a divine breast in the other. “Ung, yes angel, yes.” Her skin was abuzz and her heart pounded in her chest.

“You are my temple, Crowley, where I come to worship.”

“More angel, more,” Crowley begged. Her thighs were shaking as Aziraphale’s words painted broad strokes of love and passion on her flesh.

Aziraphale obliged, sinking a third finger into Crowley’s desperate cunt and continuing her verse. “Come here to me from Krete to this holy temple / where is your graceful grove / of apple trees and altars / smoking with frankincense.” She bucked her hips forward to drive her fingers deeper and buried her face into Crowley’s neck, taking in the dark, resinous scent of her. The demon smouldered like bonfire under Aziraphale, reminding the angel of nights spent moving fearlessly under a bright, Dianic moon.

Crowley could feel her cunt thrumming around Aziraphale’s fingers, every word blessing her like a prayer, coaxing her pleasure, stoking her fire. She thought of the garden and of the apple and of the true knowledge she gave. She thought of the words whispered on the wind in Eden and how much more eloquently Azirpahale would have said them. But most of all she thought about how happy she was to have emancipated humanity because without them, Aziraphale never could have found a joy like that of a book in her hands. To think she could be responsible for even a fragment of that joy lit Crowley’s body up as she rode her first and last lover.

Aziraphale curled her fingers up, finding the spot she knew so well. Crowley cried something unintelligible that might have been a prayer or might have been a curse. She dug her heels into the bed. “And in it cold water makes a clear sound through / apple branches and with roses the whole place / is shadowed and from radiant-shaking leaves / enchanted sleep falls.” Crowley’s hand clamped tightly to Aziraphale’s bosom, desperately searching for something to steady her as she was flung into her orgasm. Her body was washed in burning pleasure as Aziraphale worked her fingers effortlessly as though she’d played Crowley like a lyre six million times before.

Crowley writhed under her, hissing ancient devotions. “Mmmhm, that’s it,” Aziraphale could feel her own cunt pulse at the sight of Crowley’s pleasure, “come for me my dear.” As Crowley rode the waves of her orgasm, Aziraphale whispered low and sweet into her ear, “And in it a meadow has come into bloom / with spring flowers and breezes / like honey are blowing.” When Crowley’s body finally went slack she clutched onto her angel with all four limbs as though she might disappear. Aziraphale could still feel Crowley’s muscles spasm around her, gripping onto angelic fingers. Crowley panted and tears welled on the brim of her eyes, “fuck, why do I always do this.” The overwhelming shock of pleasure and awe in her angel had not only wracked her body with physical sensation, but also resurrected every moment of swelling love she had ever felt for Aziraphale. The experience was always overwhelming by how all-encompassing it was. It happened more and more lately.

“It’s quite natural dear, don’t be embarrassed,” Aziraphale crooned. Crowley buried her face in Aziraphale’s neck, trying to hide her sniffles. Her angel carefully slid out of her and was met with a soft, muffled whine. Aziraphale shifted to her side, bringing Crowley with her into a full-body hug.

“You do that ssssso well.” Crowley mumbled into Aziraphale’s chest, “jus’, everything.” The angel giggled and Crowley’s heart swelled as she grew more desperate to consume the cries of pleasure she planned to elicit from the angel. Thinking of the expert way Aziraphale was able to sing and caress and tend to her reignited a hunger in Crowley. Once she collected herself, she rolled them over again, this time pinning Aziraphale under her slender frame. “My turn,” she grinned with lusty mischief. Aziraphale just smiled in response as Crowley slid down on the bed, situating herself on her belly between Aziraphale’s legs.

“Oh, is it now?” Aziraphale teased, “What will you do to repay me, my love?”

Crowley laid a tender kiss on Aziraphale’s mons, feather-soft hairs tickling her nose. She looked up, her citrine eyes sparkling, “I’m going to worship at your altar. I’m going to drink of your wine and pray for your blessings.”

“And freely I shall give them, dear.” Aziraphale reached a hand down, tangling her fingers into Crowley’s firey waves. Crowley let the angel guide her head down and she moaned as she reached their destination. Aziraphale lifted her knees, downy thighs brushing Crowley’s cheeks. Crowley nuzzled into one, taking in the syrupy musk of her wife. Crowley flicked her tongue over the sensitive skin of Aziraphale’s inner thigh. Aziraphale let out an uninhibited moan and Crowley let out a hungry noise. She dipped her nose down to probe Aziraphale’s aching, swollen clit. Aziraphale’s hips twitched forward.

“Have you been waiting for me, love?” Crowley peered over the soft peaks of Aziraphale’s belly, waiting patiently for her answer.

“Yes,” Aziraphale breathed, “in the shop, I was reading Marilyn Hacker and stealing glances of you my dear.”

“Oh, Hacker was it? No wonder you’re so worked up, you dirty thing,” Crowley grinned.

“Yes dear, well, you know I find her work quite evocative--”

"I do," Crowley smiled with fondness. Aziraphale breathed, “and you are simply beguiling and,” she dug her heel into Crowley’s shoulder, “I don’t think I can wait any longer.”

Crowley didn’t need more of an invitation than that. She lowered her mouth and smoothed a wild tongue over Aziraphale’s slick heat, still peering up at Azirpahale’s cherubic expressions. She had no right to look so holy, so chaste, so divine, as she was spread open under her demon.

The angel dug her fingers into Crowley’s hair and pushed her face into her. “Please,” she gasped, “don’t tease, darling.” Crowley spared no time. She dove into Aziraphale and nudged the soft gathering of her sex open with a serpentine tongue to taste the briny-tart of her.

She pulled away slightly to admire the angel laid before her, “mmm, angel you taste divine.” She wrapped her arms around Aziraphale’s thighs and pulled them close to frame her face, creamy thighs on hot cheeks, as she dove back into her. Aziraphale let out a sigh as though she had taken her first gulp of ice-cold water on a sweltering day. Her body sighed under Crowley’s touch, relaxed and trusting. Crowley moaned into her, encouraged by her Angel’s exhalations. She began to work her tongue into the angel, flicking desperately into her dearest love. Crowley prodded Aziraphale’s clit with the bridge of her nose so that she wouldn’t have to leave the warm salt of her lover, her fingers digging into the soft flesh of thighs. Her inhuman tongue pushed deeper than it should have been able to, desperate to feel as much of her angel as possible. Aziraphale’s walls pulsed around Crowley as she worked her way into her angel’s holy depths, the closest to Heaven she would ever get.

Aziraphale gripped her hair, “Ah!" she gasped, "oh my, Crowley, I love you like this. Don’t,” she panted and rolled her hips to the rhythm of Crowley’s hungry lapping, “Don’t stop.”

Crowley redoubled her efforts with a concentration a natural disaster couldn’t break. Her feverish lavings brought the angel to arch her back up from the bed, grinding harder into Crowley’s face.

Aziraphale rode Crowley’s tongue, her lover diligently working her as she cried, “Didn’t Sappho say her guts clutched up like this? / _oh,Crowley!_ Before a face suddenly numinous,” she panted, Crowley humming into her with delight at the sound of the poetry rolling off her sweet tongue. “her eyes watered, knees melted. Did she lactate / again, milk brought down by a girl’s kiss?” Aziraphale’s recitation had reignited Crowley’s lust for the angel threefold.

She pushed two deft fingers into her silky-slick lover and listened to the sound of her angel’s moaned-out poetry as she savored the burning depths of her. Crowley groaned into Aziraphale, grinding herself into her own thighs as she held Azirphale’s closer to her face. The weight of her angel’s thighs on her cheeks and over her shoulders, was as comforting as it was arousing.

“[n]ot the wish, but the need, _\--ah--_ to consume, in us,” Aziraphale arched off the bed, forgetting her lines. Crowley curled her fingers, inviting Aziraphale to lose herself in orgasm. She was sitting on her heels, watching Aziraphale writhe under her as poetic verse glided out over her lips. “My eyes and groin are permanently swollen,” she let out a pointed whimper, “I’m…_I’m alter-- alter_\-- alternatingly brilliant and witless _AH!_ and sleepless..”

Azirpahale had raised herself so far off the bed that Crowley climbed to kneel before her, supporting the angel on her thighs as she moved her thumb to Aziraphale’s clit. “Come for me angel, you gorgeous, genius, curious creature. I thank Aphrodite for blessing me with you every day.” She massaged her fingers over the sensitive, ribbed area inside her angel. Aziraphale cried and her hips jumped, heels digging into the mattress. She came hard, hips held to the sky as though a prayer to a lunar goddess forgotten by humankind. Her cries met Crowley’s ears like a paean of her triumph. She rode the sweet offering of her orgasm as her lover looked on adoringly, guiding her through with gentle movements.

“You are _truly_ one of a kind, angel," Crowley purred.

Azirpahale’s panting and body shocks calmed enough for her to look up at Crowley. There, she found warm, jubilant eyes looking on with unfettered devotion.

“Hi dear,” Aziraphale exhaled.

“Hello darling, did you enjoy yourself?” She smirked but it was a genuine question.

“Oh, _quite_.” Aziraphale pulled Crowley up to rest on her downy chest. "Come here."

“Mph, angel, you’ve still got the best tits you know that?” Crowley moved to take a powder-pink nipple softly between her teeth.

Aziraphale wriggled a bit in unexpected pleasure and petted Crowley’s hair, “And you’ve got the most skillful tongue in the galaxy.”

Crowley moved her head to rest on Aziraphale’s chest, her momentary impulse passed. They laid in the afterglow of their efforts, slowly drifting in and out of sleep when Crowley heard Aziraphale murmur, “I didn’t get to finish that Marilyn Hacker.”

“‘s okay, angel,” Crowley mumbled, not wanting the bliss of her position disturbed.

Aziraphale hummed in agreement and carded delicate fingers through Crowley’s hair, massaging her her scalp in circles with gentle fingertips. The demon was half asleep as she heard Azirpahale whisper, “Although I’d cream my jeans touching your breast, / sweetheart, it isn’t lust; it’s all the rest / of what I want with you that scares me shitless.”

Crowley let out an amused, smitten exhale, “y’r r’lly something, angel.”

Aziraphale kissed the top of her head and snapped the lights off, wrapping the demon up in the tufted duvet and her own protective embrace.

“Sleep, dear.”

“Mm, love you.”

“I love you too, Crowley.”


End file.
